Six Bullets
by Burning 'Til There's Dark Blue
Summary: There were six bullets in the gun, all unfired. G/T. Rated M for suicidal themes.
1. Gwen

**Six Bullets**

It was dark outside, with a million stars around her. She was walking through town, shivering with adrenaline, cold metal in her hand, blood running down her wrists. She wasn't sure where she was going, or how she'd end up there, but she needed to escape.

There were six bullets in the gun. Six chances to take a life. But would she need all of them? Probably not. She smiled as the sound of a bullet split the air, far away. How many would hear her gun? A hundred?

She thought of his face, smiling, as he played his guitar. But then he went and betrayed her, and how could she look at him again? All the pain she had been through had finally built up to the point of no return.

Her friends would cry, she knew that. But did she even have any friends anymore? They would all end up at the funeral, cry for a while, then smile and go about their day as if nothing had happened.

Suddenly she couldn't make it any farther. She collapsed onto the ground, leaning against a brick wall, sobbing. She threw the gun down, far away. She pulled out the note she had written and crumpled it in her hand. Why was she giving up? Why didn't she care anymore?

Somebody ran up to her, breathing heavily. The person collapsed onto their knees, handing her a note. She stared at the person who had just run up. Blonde hair was falling out from the hood of the person's jacket. The person was tired, she could see that. She opened the note and read it.

_"I know what you're trying to do. And if you know what's best for everyone, you'll stop. Don't kill yourself. Stay out of the darkness. I'm sorry for what I did. It wasn't my fault. Just wait another day and you'll see why I'm apologizing."_

She looked at the person who gave it to her, who was on her knees, still out of breath.

"He told me…to give it…to you." The person said, still out of breath.

She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, still sobbing. He had cared enough to write that note and send it out with the one person who could still stop her. She hadn't realized he still cared.

She stood up and instantly collapsed into the blonde-haired girl's arms, crying.

It was amazing what a piece of paper could do.

24 hours later a bright red rose and a small cardboard box showed up on Gwen's porch. When she picked them up, she saw the note. His messy handwriting was hard to read, but she knew what it said.

"_From Trent. If you kill yourself Bridgette said she's going to bring you back from the dead and kill you again. Now do you really want that to happen?"_

Inside the cardboard box were six golden bullets.

All had been fired.


	2. Bridgette

Her room was quiet. The pages of her mystery novel were the only sounds in the room. But a nagging feeling in her gut was telling her something was wrong. Trying to distract herself, she threw down the book and began attempting to braid her hair. But she couldn't focus.

She looked up at her ceiling, which she had long ago plastered with posters to keep the cracks on it from being visible. The posters had finally started to peel of and personally, she wasn't that all surprised when one suddenly fell down. It was an old Greenday poster she had gotten back when her parents first suddenly announced that they were going to move out of their crappy little shack near downtown Toronto and move to a house that was in a good neighborhood, it just happened to be the site of a drug bust and it was run down.

She heard him playing his guitar across the street, just random notes. She closed her eyes, letting tears run down the corners. How many people knew about her real life, the one she hid from everybody on the game show? How many knew what her parents_ really _were like. Not how she had portrayed them on the show. Truth was, they were barely getting by and both her parents were crackheads.

The guitar music stopped and snapped her out of her trance. Moments later, she heard a door slam across the street. The sound of shoes hitting the pavement. Coming towards her house. Gunshot suddenly breaking the silence. She got up and got to the door right as he rang the doorbell.

He looked upset, and was holding a napkin covered in ink. She looked at him, confused and concerned.

"I need you to give that to her…I can't run." He said. She nodded, and pushed past him, breaking into a sprint.

The streetlights passed by quickly. Was she going to be late? Was she going to find her best friend's body in the street, brains blown out, covered in blood?

She had read too many mystery novels. She couldn't think that. No, nobody was going to die that she knew tonight. She broke into an even faster sprint, stumbling but catching herself.

She saw her friend leaning against a brick wall, knees pulled to her chest. Something that she soon recognized as a gun lay on the sidewalk next to her. But she wasn't too late. Finally, something good that day.

She stopped and handed the note over, gasping for breath after having just run a mile. Her friend stood up and took the note, reading it, then falling into the exhausted surfer's arms.

She walked home, too tired to think. As she walked up the steps to her house, she saw him sitting on his porch, playing his guitar. She walked over.

"If Gwen kills herself, and if that note doesn't work, I swear I am gonna bring her back to life and kill her." Bridgette said, walking back to her house.

She collapsed in her room, crying.


	3. Trent

He sat on his bed, trying unsuccessfully to play "Wake me up When September Ends" by Greenday on his guitar, but he kept lapsing into other songs. Thinking of her face when she had seen him with her, the tears welling in her eyes, screaming at him.

Screaming that she would kill herself.

Yes, he was worried about her, but was she serious when she said that? He hoped, no, he _prayed _that it had been spur of the moment. Prayed that she wasn't going to take her own life.

His cell phone snapped him out of it. It was a text message, with several typos, that had obviously been written in a rush. The Caller ID said it was from her.

_Ihate u, u trator how cOud u do ths 2 mi? Iv givn up I hopf u know that gudby forevr tel mi frends im sry 2 go._

She had been telling the truth.

He stood up quickly, throwing his guitar down carelessly on the bed. He looked for a piece of paper. Why was it so hard to find a piece of paper at a time like this? Unable to find one, he grabbed a napkin laying on his desk and quickly scrawled a note on it.

Now how was he going to get it to her in time? He had sprained his ankle trying to run away from her that morning when she was trying to kill him and he could barely walk. Plus she wasn't going to trust him!

Then it came to him. Her best friend, the one she would always trust, no matter what happened. Plus, the one he was thinking of ran freakishly fast, even if she did run into several poles along the way. Limping, he dashed quickly out of his house and across the street to hers.

She answered the door, blonde hair hanging down loose and messy, blue eyes sparkling with confusion as he handed her the note.

"I need you to give that to her…I can't run."

She nodded, and, not even bothering to take off her shoes, shoved past him and began running. He watched her, wondering if she'd be able to get there in time.

A gunshot split the air. Was he too late? No, that was too strong of a gun. _Her _gun was just a small, six round handgun.

But he didn't want her to die.

He limped home and went to his room, picking up the guitar. He didn't know what he was playing at first, but he realized it after the first two chords.

"Life is Beautiful" by Sixx:A.M., otherwise known as the song he had written all the lyrics to and given them to her, just to make her smile.

Now Gwen had turned suicidal and Trent had no idea what to do.


	4. Heather

It was silent in her neighborhood. She was staring out the window, dark brown eyes glistening in the rain. She hadn't expected the fight; she had just wanted to make the girl jealous. But no way on earth had she expected the blood and the tears that had followed. Now all she wanted to do was apologize.

She hadn't expected the sudden attack, the screams, the noise, and the blood. All that blood, and only from a nail file! Why had she thought that cutting the other girl's face up with the nail file was going to do anything? All it had done was cause more pain.

Several people had eventually dragged the other girl away, as she continued to scream. But what she said during the argument that followed shocked her even now.

_"I hate you! I'm going to kill you! Lemme go already!"_

_"You're just jealous! Stop trying to fight! You're never going to win! You're friggin' worthless!"_

_"Which is why I'm going to kill myself! I don't wanna live if every day is gonna be like this! Everybody's betrayed me! I refuse to live in this world if everybody is gonna shun me for no friggin' reason! You don't know what it's like! So leave me alone!"_

The silence that had followed from everybody in the hall had been nerve-shattering. The three people holding the girl back looked shocked. The poor girl's face was covered in blood and tears, and it had started to pool on the floor. She stood only yards away, teeth gritted, biting her lip, trying to think of something to say, an amazingly great comeback. But nothing had come.

Was she going to be the cause for the other girl's suicide?

The memory of her blood and tear stained face drifted in her mind, the Goth's words still screaming in her head. The girl's boyfriend, angry at the reason for all of this but more focused on trying to stop murder.

And she was the cause for all of it.

Looking back now, she thought of all the tormenting and pain she had caused people, either willingly or unwillingly. Not knowing she was making people so miserable that they were turning into suicidal maniacs. Wondering why the Goth and the Surfer girls both had been wearing longer and longer sleeves.

Now she knew.

Something in her mind was telling her she had to go apologize, but she couldn't. Not after all she had said and done. She couldn't take it back _now! _Driving all these people to taking anger out on themselves.

She fell on to her hands and knees, staring at the carpet. Wishing she could start over, wishing she could apologize. But it was too late. Everyone hated her, even her own parents. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, then got up and walked out the door, picking up a piece of paper as she went.

There were things you could do nowadays that would kill you near instantly. With all the guns and drugs around town, it could only take one false move and it would all be over.

There was a gun somewhere in her house, downstairs. She found it quickly, the six-millimeter handgun her dad used to scare off people from the IRS. She picked it up, cold metal in her hands, and smiled. Placing it down momentarily, she grabbed a pen off the counter and quickly wrote the two words that she hoped would be an explanation. Putting the paper in her pocket, she picked up the gun and walked outside to the driveway, sitting down and taking out the note. She lay it on the ground in front of her, where everybody could see it. It was raining, but the ink wouldn't wash off.

She smiled, looking up at the sky.

"I'm sorry, everybody. This is my apology."

Heather put the gun to her head and pulled the trigger.

oOo

**A/N: **After reading this, how many figured out the gunshot Bridgette, Gwen, and Trent all heard was Heather's suicide?


	5. Duncan

He sat there silently, trying to get her words out of his head. It was amazing that after all he had heard people say that this was affecting him the most. The clock in the hall outside his room kept a steady metronome to his thoughts. Wondering how everybody else felt right now. Hoping everybody was still alive.

He had done things he wasn't proud of. Until the game show, he was reckless, going insane, locked in juvy.

All had changed at the game show. People who he actually somewhat cared for had dragged him back to earth. If only that stupid host could see him now. He would be shocked at the changes. His piercings were long gone, only faint scars were they once were. The green Mohawk had been violently cut off by his girlfriend, and his black hair was pretty much just a shaggy mess.

He wondered how many other people had realized the error of their ways since the show. Maybe 4 or 5 others. Maybe the dorks had finally realized how pathetic they looked and talked. Maybe the crazy girl had finally been locked in a mental hospital.

His friends, surprisingly, had changed the least. Except for one turning into a suicidal maniac and one becoming more and more withdrawn every single day, they were all, actually, pretty much the same.

The memory of those 3 minutes, where everything changed, floated back into his mind. The snob kissing the suicidal maniac's boyfriend in front of them all. Mean girl and Goth girl suddenly in a fight. The blood all over the ground. Him and his friends separating them. Threats of suicide. Blood and tears on the concrete. Her suddenly bursting out of their grasp and running.

A gunshot sounded, far off. He knew it wasn't her, but it still startled him, bringing back memories of the past. How many times had he heard that sound? He closed his eyes. Memories of the fight that had got him into juvy in the first place were suddenly fresh in his mind. His brother fighting with a drug dealer about money. Guns suddenly being pulled. Everything turning into a firefight. The cops had arrested him just because he was there, even though he did nothing.

Suddenly he realized whose gun it was, the only girl whose parents owned a gun that was that powerful. He got up, suddenly full of concern, and the next thing he knew, he was on the street, running towards the mansions on the outskirts of Toronto. He knew where she lived. After all the pranks he and his friends had pulled, he would know.

He pushed through the crowd of people that had gathered outside, trying to get to the center. There were already cops there, so somebody had died. In the corner of his eye, he saw his girlfriend, looking shocked and upset. Finally, he broke through.

Lying in the driveway was Heather, still holding the gun, blood all over everything. In her hand was a blood splattered note. A cop picked it up and read it, careful not to mess anything up.

"What does it say?" Duncan asked, trying to sound as calm as possible.

"It says 'I'm Sorry.'" The cop said.

Duncan closed his eyes and looked down as another clap of thunder filled the air.


	6. The Funeral

It had rained hard that day. Nobody spoke as they listened to the preacher's words. Flowers covered the coffin, and a school photo lay on top. It had been 2 days since the fight and everyone was reminiscing.

The girl who had come very close to dying herself that day was wearing a white dress, in honor of the deceased's Japanese heritage. Granted that fact that everyone else was wearing white. She had actually let her hair down that day, and it had grown very long in two years. It now fell down to her waist, but normally it was pinned up. The bandages on her wrists and face, instead of standing out, seemed to compliment the outfit, and everybody's mood. Broken, yet healing.

The musician sat on the grass next to her, holding his guitar. They had asked him to play a song, but he couldn't think of one at the moment. Looking over the crowd, he saw the faces he'd known for years, some crying, some in a fog, two just standing with their eyes closed. His girlfriend was smiling, though, and as he looked at her in confusion, she quietly mouthed "She's happy now." With that, the idea for a song hit him.

The surfer was standing farther away from everyone else, blonde hair pulled back in an elaborate braid. The grass where she stood was perfect, an even, dark green, covered with rain. It made her think back to that night, running across town, acting as a messenger, soles of her sandals hitting the cement. Trying as hard as she could to keep her best friend alive, not knowing whether she would fail or not.

The one who had changed probably changed the most stood in the crowd, black hair a complete mess. He had ran so hard that night, just to make sure that nobody was hurt, and it turns out the one who had caused all the pain and tormenting of others had shot herself. He was the one who told everyone, he was the one who told them about the note. Why had he been chosen for all of this? Why was he the one who had to tell them all?

The speech by the preacher ended and Trent got up, picking up his guitar case. He got up on stage and looked at all the faces, wondering if they would even have heard of his song. Smiling, he played a few odd chords before playing the song "The Day That I Die" by Good Charlotte.

Gwen stood, listening to her boyfriend's song. She knew that what he was singing about fit what Heather had done perfectly. She looked down at her feet, catching sight of the bandages that Bridgette had made her put on to hide the scars. Now that she thought about it, she realized that suicide would have made everything worse.

Bridgette had sat down, and was looking up at the sky. The rain had stopped, and the sun had begun to come out from behind the clouds. It seemed fitting that the moment all the pain was ending, and with Trent's song, that the sun finally decided to show. She just wished now she had known what was happening to Heather, the silent battle in her mind.

Duncan closed his eyes, tuning everyone out. There were some things that would traumatize even him, and the sight of Heather, a hole in her skull, blood and brains everywhere, was going to scar him. He wished that she had survived. But wishing couldn't bring anybody back to life.

Trent finished his song and stepped off the stage. The four walked away together.

Nobody said anything about the tears falling from their faces.


End file.
